Of SoCalled Heroes
by LightOfTheSecondStar
Summary: An A/U retelling of DMC3, save for one little detail... Ch 10: The mimic bared his fangs in blatant mockery of a smile, drew out a copy of Rebellion from its place on his back and motioned for Dante to 'bring it'.
1. Prologue, Lady

**Well, here I am, updating another story. Much different than the ones from before, actually. This is a rather... odd retelling of DMC3, with a certain detail missing. As usual, all disclaimers apply.**

* * *

This girl understood nothing.

Perhaps it was the smell. It wasn't just the tinge of copper or iron. It was horrible, nauseating, something else entirely that made her stomach flip.

…No, that couldn't work. She couldn't have understood it all from just one sense.

Perhaps it had been the sight.

Slightly familiar person, wielding an unfamiliar weapon, stuck in an all-too-familiar person.

The blade swung out, a trail of blood arcing along the floor. Why, that was the only thing keeping the hapless victim together, but too late.

The body fell to the floor. Blood pooled, a hand extended, a last reach for the girl; but the girl still didn't understand.

Had it been the sound? The blade did make a long, drawn out _shiiiiiing, _but it was too far embedded into the person to make a clean noise. They would all have to make do with the sound of flesh being cut through, again, the body falling with a _thud _to the floor in a semi-conscious heap, the feeble gasps for air as it clung on to life as much as it could, but then as the hand extended, that last reach for her, the girl, there was a faint whisper; "Mary…"

And she understood.

Mary understood perfectly.

She couldn't hesitate. Another second and she would die. Even though she wondered just how she had even survived long enough to procure her gun, much less aim it.

The man—no, murderer— turned to look at her as she pointed the loaded CB-97B pistol at him. She held it with both hands, trying to steady it, but she was aware she was shaking. Her hands, her entire body— she couldn't keep either steady.

He knew it as well, but he just didn't seem to care. He looked on impassively. She really thought she could shoot him, didn't she? It wouldn't hurt to put her to that test.

He strode towards her, his advance slow, flicking the blood from his sword.

This made her back away. She tried to maintain a firm grip on the gun, keep it aimed. She'd wanted to curse him, threaten him— "I'll shoot you right where you stand!" but her body betrayed her, and instead she whimpered pitifully, her weapon useless in her trembling fingers until she let it go altogether.

Just like that, she'd lost. She fell to her knees, weakened. So much for the adrenalin rush getting her through it. She couldn't pull the trigger— couldn't pull the goddamned _trigger_. There was nothing left for her but to die, presumably, to this monster. She closed her eyes, too scared to look at Death or even its shadow as it loomed.

Surely, when someone was facing their last moments, they had something to say; a confession, or a plea, or something witty, something that was appropriate. Something that was better than what she could say, what her word was; a hushed, "Why?"

For all it was worth, the question was met with laughter. Not of the overly loud or cheerful kind, but a slow, amused chuckle. The bastard actually found it funny. Not that it mattered, as it died down. Her life was coming to an end.

She waited, and she was not dead, but cold, and instinctively held herself to keep warm. Pretty sure death was more painful than anything, she opened her eyes. He was gone, a gust of wind rushing into the room from the open window. He left her alone.

And she was left to look at the body. Nothing but the body. She wanted to look away— make it less real, perhaps, if she'd ignored it— but… the two-toned eyes, same as hers. They didn't stop staring.

"Father," she sobbed, the rage and fear ebbing away to next-to-nothing as despair took over. She cried for him.

The candle light flickered overhead, casting odd shadows across the room. It gave the impression that he was still moving, still alive. If only he was. It didn't happen, no matter how hard she wished. Instead she was left with his empty shell, his eyes the same as hers, staring, pleading, _'Why didn't you shoot? Why didn't you avenge me?'_

"I'm sorry," she bawled, but 'sorry' wasn't enough. 'Sorry' wasn't going to bring him back. It wasn't going to kill his murderer, least of all.

A scream; Mary looked to the doorway. Tears blurred her eyes, yet she could still make out the shape of the woman, her mother, standing there, shrieking in hysterics. No, not then, not then. Too soon, she wouldn't understand. Why then?

Mary got up to explain, but her tear streaked face, her stained hands, the gun that clattered to the floor _ages_ ago, they didn't help. None of it helped.

To think, she wanted to be a good girl.

--

Kalina Ann was sick; some sudden illness struck and left her bedridden. Mary wasn't taking care of her as often as she'd liked, leaving that to her father, Arkham. It wasn't her fault; she'd almost feared walking into that room at times, seeing her mother there, no longer the strong woman she'd admired, more ghostly than anything.

Kalina saw things in her delirium, cried constantly about things that weren't there, demons, and the like. Mary didn't want to hear any of it, yet it was so much scarier when her mother was quiet. It meant nights upon nights of Kalina sobbing to herself under the covers, whispering to these 'demons' to leave her alone, leave her alone, let her live.

Seeing her mother like that made her hate their home. She hated that mansion, choosing better to avoid it, finding any excuse to stay out. Although she failed to figure out which was more tedious; staying at home with her ailing mother, or be her friend's keeper every single night she went and got herself drunk. The drunken friend seemed easily the better choice; they could stay the night in that bar down in 13th Avenue. Or at least, she would. Mary wouldn't.

Still, she couldn't avoid it. Kalina had only gotten worse day to day, seeing more things, her pleas making less sense.

Once, just once, she'd summoned up the courage to see her. By herself. She sat on her mother's bedside, watching her.

Kalina's lips moved, murmuring something unintelligible under her breath, her eyes darting across the ceiling, following something there. Mary looked up; she knew there was nothing, yet…

"Mary… Mare…" Kalina Ann grasped her daughter's hand as best as she could, maintaining a fixed gaze on her all the while. There was no paranoia in her eyes, no madness in her voice. No fearful plea. "I… I don't see you often, do I?"

Mary tried to keep herself from looking. Guilty, too guilty.

"You're never home."

The tears welled up. "…I know," she finally replied.

For her mother, she would be a good girl. Arrive earlier, stop being so afraid, take care of her like she was supposed to in the hopes she would get better.

She hadn't expected one night to find Arkham murdered, or her mother to finally rise from the confines of her room and be met with such a sight.

Mary's only hope was that Kalina would think this too was a hallucination. The sight of her daughter and dead husband, the _truth, _would have broken her completely. Mary tried for what felt like an eternity to ease her mother back to her room and get her to sleep. Kalina had to rest. Rest, and forget. Maybe by the time she got better, it would all be over. The devil that ruined all their lives would be gone, forever. For that, she had to gather her resolve… but who was 'she'? Mary? No, Mary was weak, hesitant, a fool. She couldn't be that girl anymore. She had to be stronger; stronger for her mother's sake; for her father's sake; for her own sake.

Mary… Her father gave her that name, but she didn't deserve it if she couldn't avenge him.

Speaking of, imagine her surprise when she found his corpse was gone the next moment.


	2. Prologue, Dante

The door slammed open and a man emerged. He ruffled his hair, attempting to shake the water droplets out. White-haired, muscular if lean, clad in nothing but brown pants and lace-less boots on his feet. With an annoyed groan, he took his seat behind the desk, and took to staring at the phone, expecting it to ring.

It didn't make a sound.

He kicked his feet up on the oak desk, taking time to mull over the events since he'd gotten here (to the town, not the desk). Business didn't seem to get anywhere for the past year. Apart from not having named his shop yet, whatever he could get from his informant was very little. All of the bigger hunts were disposed of, kept dying somehow. They were slaughtered, to be more obvious.

Demons came, demons went, and he was broke all of the time (he couldn't even afford **leftover** pizza). Someone out there was taking his kills and he was losing his chances along with them. It didn't look good on him at all. Worse, he wasn't big on the whole 'detective' thing yet, so as much as he wanted to figure all of that out, it simply wasn't his style.

He leaned back in his chair, sighing. Maybe if he waited, a lead would come up somewhere, something that could point him in the right direction. Then he would work on to bigger things, like finding the bastard that killed his mother, for example.

The double doors creaked open. He couldn't help but look a little surprised. Wow, an answer. Almost as if he'd willed it. Said answer came in the form of a young woman wearing what looked like a Catholic schoolgirl outfit. As if it couldn't get any better for this young-adult stud.

He did well to take the time to observe her as she looked around curiously. She didn't even bother looking at him first, but whatever. Huh, heavily armed… that skirt of hers was made out of ammo for those guns; nice touch, pretty creative. Oh wait, was that a rocket launcher? Nice, nice, how was she carrying that around though? Pretty lean frame, but she didn't look the type to be out hunting demons. She should be in some uppity private Catholic school, learning something new by day and having a good time by night. Maybe getting guys like him to ogle her or something, but not on purpose.

Come to think about it… she didn't belong here at all. What the hell messed her life up enough to take up arms in the first place? No big deal; he'd just have to ask. "Hey."

She turned to look at the source of the noise, and a shocked expression came up as if she'd just _then_ taken notice of him. More like she'd seen a ghost, actually.

He eyed her up and down. "What brings you here?"

Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance at that. Without warning, she took aim with her rocket launcher.

His reflexes kicked in before his mind had even a split-second to register the assault. He didn't have to resort to anything extreme, though, simply tilt his head to the side. The bayonet from the rocket launcher sailed harmlessly past, and he could still feel the breeze from the near miss. He couldn't resist taking a look, though; she nearly caught the novelty demon fur he'd gotten months before.

"Calm down, lady. Was it something I said?" he also couldn't resist making a joke.

The young woman scowled at him. In a quick motion, she pulled the bayonet back and settled for swinging her launcher down onto the desk, possibly trying to cut _him _in half.

His first course of action; grab the portrait not far to his right. Second; grab a gun. Third; get the hell out of the way. He did a backflip and landed in a crouch, the portrait in his right hand and 'Ebony' (his handgun) in his left, pointed right at the woman. He wasn't _really_ going to shoot her, but then again he wasn't aware just what he would do if anything happened to that portrait. It was important, damn it.

Even more important, was who this lady was. _Okay, she's strong, she's pissed, and she wants to kill me for some reason. _

He set the portrait on the ground then stood, keeping Ebony fixed on her, his finger relaxed on the trigger somewhat. He took slow steps away from the broken desk, towards the pool table. "Come on, what's your problem? I ask you a question and suddenly you wanna blow me up!"

She shot him a cross look, obviously offended at his remark. She maintained the distance between them. "I'm not falling for your little game!"

He was taken aback by that. _…A game?_ "Listen, I'm not playing any games. I don't even know you--"

"Shut up!" she cried in retaliation.

Next thing he knew, he was three seconds away from taking a missile to the face. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the broadsword lying near the table and swung, cutting the missile in two. Some defense that was.

He tsk-tsk'ed."Didn't even let me finish!" He nearly couldn't finish _that_ statement, as she came running at him, this time about to fire another volley at point-blank range._ Well, fuck, she's crazy too._ He kicked the pool table and sent it sliding, making her break her stride to get out of the way. _What'd I do to deserve this? _A question well asked, even if mentally. They just met and already he'd **somehow** without even his own knowledge, managed to ruin her day. "You're coming at me like I'm your ex boyfriend or something!"

She accused him of playing a game, and he couldn't help but think it _was _one. Just one twisted game of tag. She attacked him, he dodged, she missed and tried again, same thing over and over. She couldn't catch him. And meanwhile most of his stuff got destroyed in the process. The pool table, the drum set, the posters, even the demon fur on the back wall got blown up (just like he expected it to, oddly).

As if even she had gotten tired of it all, she settled for coming at him with her bayonet like before. _Close range, huh?_ It was gonna be child's play for him, just parry. It was mandatory that he play around for a little bit, though. She swung, intent on striking at his head but he placed Rebellion in the way and their weapons clashed. Even his knees shook a little. _Damn, this girl's got some bite to her._

Then whatever seriousness was there went away in an instant; he _still _had an urge to give her another look-see. _Hmm. _The girl had mismatched eyes. That was slightly weird, but he'd heard of the condition before. Hetero-something-something. It looked weird on some people, but on her it was slightly charming.

Or, it would be, if the girl wasn't using those eyes to glare daggers into him. Regardless, it _was_ cute.

He'd already gotten the general gist of her outfit when she walked in, so the weapon was under close examination. He tilted his head slightly. There was something engraved on her rocket launcher. What was it …'Kalina Ann'? Was that the chick's name or something? He'd have to ask later, maybe when she stopped being so crazy.

A creaking sound reached his ears, but he paid little attention. Just that it was coming from above them, somewhere? It didn't matter, up until the part of the ceiling right above the desk caved in, fan and all. That caught his attention. _Shit, shit, shit! Not the portrait! _It was buried now, wasn't it? _This is what I get for playing around! _

He had taken his eyes off the girl for a split-second. He felt something force him back, and figured she noticed his apparent distraction and had pushed forward, determined to break their clash. Too bad, he didn't have the time to play with her anymore. He let up and backed away. She took the bait, raising her weapon to swing down again. He moved out of the way and the bayonet lodged itself into the wall behind him. Before she could pull free, he delivered a kick to the back of her legs and knocked her off balance.

She cursed under her breath and tried to get up— only to see him standing over her, his Rebellion pointed at her throat. She looked at him expectantly, rage seething in her eyes. "Go on, then."

But he didn't do anything. He simply averted his gaze and hoisted his sword over his shoulder. "Dunno what your problem is," he murmured, walking away from her.

---

She sat upright, a little dazed from her 'landing'. So, this wasn't the demon from before. If only she'd known that sooner… but they looked so much alike, she was sure! She gritted her teeth; annoyed with herself at such a mistake. What a waste, and for the wrong guy! Hold on, that could only mean…

When she turned to look, he was pushing away the debris, apparently searching for something. "You're… Dante, right?"

He froze, didn't bother to turn around. He stared straight ahead. "Who told you that?"

_So, __**he's**__ the guy I was supposed to find? _She got up to her feet, just a tad annoyed at the question. "Does it matter? I need your help with something— a demon," she replied.

He pondered that for a moment. "Fine then, what is it?"

It was her turn to think. What could she tell him? The truth? Maybe, even if she mistook him for that demon, even if there was a chance they could very well be related… "I need help finding your brother—"

Uh-uh, wrong answer. She got a gun pointed at her for that one.

"Bullshit," he intoned; his voice gravelly. "He's dead. Need help finding him? He's six feet deep somewhere. Good luck."

Maybe he meant what he said, or maybe he doubted it, but she wasn't going to find out which it was. Yet it was still the truth to her, so she continued. "Dead or not, I saw him. He— " No, to tell what he'd done would be too much. It was best to skip to the message. "He wants you to 'accept the invitation'."

"Invitation, huh? Well that's nice," he said dryly. He continued his search for… whatever it was. He had to speak his mind, though. "He's been dead for years, and his idea of an invitation is to send me some crazy chick to blow the hell out of me—no offense," he added with a sideward glance.

"No offense taken." Her voice was just _dripping_ with sarcasm. She was not 'some crazy chick', and she could prove it by driving a bullet to the back of his head where he sat, or rather, crouched. It certainly felt right. It was _her _vengeance; now suddenly she had the devil she was trying to kill telling her to drag some guy along for the ride! What for, and what the hell was this guy looking for anyway?

---

He finally found it, but the glass was cracked. At least the picture beneath was still intact, but he'd have to buy a new frame. Damn that crazy girl. "So," he said, setting the portrait aside (at least it could still stand) "dear ol' bro couldn't just say 'Hi' to me directly?" For this he turned fully around to face her, maybe to see her reaction (if she had one).

"Obviously not." she looked away.

"Well, that's too bad. Invitation to what, anyway?"

"I don't know."

"…Got any idea where he is?" By this time he was slipping on his coat and putting his guns in their respective holsters. Come on, she _had _to know the answer to this question.

"No. I don't know where he is. Like I said, I've been looking for him too."

"Really?" _That _was something. "What'd he do to you?"

"It's a family matter, and it's none of _your _business," she snapped.

Wow. Didn't expect that reaction. "So, what, you're tellin' me that he sent you here just to drag me into _your_ problem? What the hell…" This was just a tad confusing.

It's not like she was going to admit that was exactly what she was thinking, but her eye twitched just a little. "Well if you're not going to come with me, then don't," she said, picking up Kalina Ann where it lay. "I can handle this myself." With that, she took her leave.

"Wait just a fuckin' minute—" There was no way she would get away calling him on something, wrecking his office and then just _leaving. _And he still didn't know what her problem was (with him _or _his brother, actually). Family matter? What, did his suddenly-alive twin owe her dad money or something and she's there to collect? Granted, that idea was over-the-top, but knowing his luck, it was probably something that stupid.

Knowing his other kind of luck, it was even more likely to be something really dangerous. Just the way he liked it. But no way could _she _think she was enough to take Vergil on. _He'd _beaten her easily. Vergil would just decimate her, if the two were anything alike (if at all) after all these years. Even then, only if she was being serious about the whole thing— a part of him couldn't help but think it was a practical joke. That, and maybe the girl was just insane and making it up.

It seemed sudden, yeah, but he was just going to have to follow her lead. Make some sense of this situation. Make sure she didn't get herself killed, above everything. After all, it'd be a shame if she ended up as just a pretty stain.


	3. First Mission

Dante stepped out just in time to hear the sound of glass shattering and see a scythe about to come down near his foot. It took a split-second to pull Ivory out of its holster, point it at the offending demon, and send a bullet its way. The demon burst into pieces, and the weapon hardly landed. That was gone too.

What an annoying demon, though; it had the nerve to burst into _sand. _"Ugh. Bringing the beach to the city was never a good idea, you guys," he quipped, kicking his leg a bit to get the sand off of his boot. More glass shattered. These demons were literally breaking into the human world! No big deal. These things all looked the same. They were skinny, cloaked, skulking, and had masks for faces with red bulbous eyes staring at him lifelessly.

In other words, they were as good as dead.

Dante pulled out Ebony to join her companion, Ivory, and let the bullets fly. The demons were dispatched with ease, bursting on contact. Even more of them appeared but they met the same fate.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the wannabe demon huntress fighting the demons off with her own guns. It took her slightly more work than it did for him. The low-level creatures didn't die as easily, leaving them time to swing their weapons toward her. He watched as she dodged their attacks, grace flowing smoothly in the movements as she bent, righted herself, fired, bent, swung her legs over the snath of a scythe, continued firing.

He had his attention focused on her. _She isn't such a beginner after all. _

She had her gun pointed in the mouth of the last demon when she turned to look at him. Her eyes widened. "Watch out!"

He turned to see a demon darting at his feet, about to swing up for an uppercut. The scythe just narrowly hit him as he moved back and fired. It jumped and avoided the bullet. _Speedy son-of-a—_ he cursed under his breath, but this demon was slightly different from the stupider-looking ones. No cloak, just a feathered collar. It dressed in red rather than the weird drab navy color, it had the habit of… making clucking noises, and was abnormally fast.

He fired away and left the girl to do whatever it was she was doing. She could handle herself. He'd try to destroy this annoying lesser demon. But in the meanwhile…

"Thanks," he shouted to her. He didn't mean it. He wouldn't have been hurt anyway.

"You're welcome." She didn't mean it either. Warning him was a reflex.

They continued shooting the demons as they broke into the human world, and the waves seemed endless. They backed away from the oncoming waves and almost bumped into each other. They didn't, however; they just got close enough.

He figured it was time to get to know her a bit_. _"So, what's your name?"

She growled a bit and he could swear her brows probably twitched in annoyance at him. "I don't have a name."

Silence, save for the demons' death throes and gunshots. They still had their backs turned to each other.

"…Is it 'Kalina Ann'?"

No answer. (The demons were slowing.)

"Just 'Ann', then?"

"That's _not_ my name," she said through gritted teeth. (There were fewer and fewer demons, now.)

"Then whose is it?"

She remained silent. (The last of them were dying.)

"_Fine,_ what do I call you?"

"Whatever you want!" She was beginning to get tired of him.

He got rid of the last one, for now. "Alright then, 'Crazy Bitch'," he muttered. He got a gun to the back of his head. "…. _Just_ 'Bitch', then?" he corrected. Click, click. "_Lady,_" he corrected finally, slowly. The gun was put away; 'Lady' found the name acceptable.

So, she told him to name her whatever he wanted but objected to his suggestions? She wasn't winning any points for consistency, but he wasn't going to judge. He was _not _going to judge. Not openly, at least.

He was going to turn around to face her but she was already on her way down the street and away from him. He shrugged and followed, but the ground started to shake violently just as he took a step. "The hell!?"

The street beneath him was cracking open, the division growing as it traveled in Lady's direction. She'd gotten out of the way before she was swallowed up. Buildings were collapsing farther away, some toppling over entirely or tumbling into newly made faults.

---

Lady was crouched, holding her rocket launcher close. "What's going on?" she whispered.

She got her answer. A loud boom resounded as multiple buildings and homes sank into a rift, and something rose up to take their place. All she managed was a noise of disbelief as she saw what it was. _A_ _tower!?_

It continued to rise skyward, before finally stopping. She almost didn't see why it would; the peak of it was already touching the clouds, or… merely looked that way. It was breathtaking, for all the wrong reasons.

She slowly got up to her feet, her eyes remaining fixated on the structure.

Dante let out a low whistle. "Not that this place needed anything to attract tourists, but _damn _that thing is massive."

She turned to look, and he was staring up at the tower as well, arms crossed but showing no real concern for the fact that the thing appeared practically next door to his office. "Ten to one says Vergil is probably there," he added.

She wasn't going to agree with him, but she wasn't going to disagree with him either. She just kept walking and kept her thoughts to herself. He was following her again.

"Freakin' hideous too." He was _still_ talking about the tower? "It's always an ancient tower or a castle with these guys. Why not a run-down shack, or better yet, a nice mansion?"

"I'm _not _listening, you know." Just keep walking, just keep walking…

"Like I care."

He probably kept going, but she just tuned him out by that point. What a motor-mouth.

--

They both stood at the foot of the tower. Dante proved to be little hassle; halfway down the street, he finally got the hint that he _really_ needed to stop talking. So, for that moment, there was silence. Lady learned to treasure it since he was probably going to start up again soon.

The opening to the tower was in front of them, but it looked like the entrance to a cave more than anything. She readied her Kalina Ann for whatever would emerge and thought of taking a step. Dante put his hand out to stop her before she did. "I'll go first."

What did he think he was, some kind of bodyguard? "Suit yourself," she said flatly, _graciously _allowing him to meddle in what she thought was her fight.

She watched his retreating figure as he made his way in, and waited. …

… and waited.

… and waited.

The sound of something (like a massive chain) snapping reverberated off the cave walls. A loud growl resounded after. She could hear something talking. Alarm was her first reaction; just what the hell was Dante about to face in there? She broke into a run with the intent of joining the devil hunter, but the inner walls of the opening frosted over. She stopped as a sheet of ice came over the cave mouth. The last thing she managed to see was a silhouette, human-sized, most likely Dante's— the other thing she'd heard, that previous voice, was definitely not human.

The ice solidified further and Lady couldn't look inside anymore.

The huntress shifted and pulled Kalina Ann, pointing it towards the barrier. She pulled the trigger, the missile sailed, exploded. A small crack in the ice was all the damage it had to show for it.

This was going to take a while.

--

It was unlike her to give up, but enough was enough. She lost count on how many rounds she shot, but the ice wasn't going anywhere. A nice spider-web formed on the surface in the meanwhile, and a few shards did fall, but that was it.

Lady gave a deep sigh. There could be another way in somewhere. She just had to find it. She looked up, and her vision was attracted to something above the entrance. Another opening, beams of some kind of material crossed over each other in an attempt to conceal it. Whatever it was looked brittle from where she was standing. Lady aimed the rocket launcher up and fired.

Compared to the ice, the beams gave way easily and crumbled, taking some rubble with them as they fell. The new entrance was manageable. Lady fired the grappling hook attached to Kalina Ann and waited until it caught the edge and lodged itself into the tower before climbing.

A lot less time was spent doing that, than what she'd first spent trying to wear away the ice in the first place. The detail was slightly rage-inducing.

She got herself to a standing position when she reached the top, and looked down into the chamber. Dante was fine, if a little beat up. She secretly hoped he'd be worse off, but whatever was in the chamber with him was probably another low-level demon, one that only appeared or sounded frightening. She just scoffed; what little worry she had felt at the time wasn't necessary.

Dante looked up and saw her. "What are you doing up there?"

She didn't hear him. Her attention was fixed on what was under his arm. He was holding something. … Since when did he get a new weapon?

The tower shook without warning. Lady lost her footing and slipped, tumbling head over heels into the chamber. In her panic, she let go of Kalina Ann and the rocket launcher went falling in another direction. Rather than scream, she shut her eyes and braced herself for the impact. Instead what she got was a very easy landing, not on the ground, but on something completely different.

She opened an eye to look.

Dante held her in his arms, bridal-style, grinning like a schoolboy.

"Wow! This is exactly what I asked Santa for!" he said with half-faked enthusiasm.

"Shut up and let me go!" she wailed and kicked. He flinched, but it wasn't like she landed a hit. She huffed angrily.

As if sensing some kind of impending, unending wrath on her part, he eased her down then bowed. "You're welcome."

Lady gave him a cross look before turning around and going to pick up Kalina Ann. She hoisted it over her shoulder and across her back, letting out a sigh as she felt the weapon's familiar weight settling where it should. Having to carry it around was actually comforting. But… he didn't need to know that.

She turned to him, then looked at the double doors guarding between them and the rest of the tower.

Dante voiced out something along the lines of what she was thinking. "We're gonna have to keep moving."

She nodded.

"It's a shame the ice is blocking out the exit, though."

She was about to regret asking. "Why's that?"

Dante shrugged, heading towards the doors. "In case you wanna turn around and run, obviously."

"And what makes you think I'll run away!?" A vein was starting to throb near her temple at that. Dante was off again, spouting nonsense and trying to make her lose her nerve. She was not some coward! …It was best not to let him anger her too badly, though, or else he'd win. Whatever. She just hoped she wouldn't have to put up with him anymore than was necessary.


	4. The Trial

Simply put, the two separated often. It was a given; he was sticking too close, she wanted nothing of it, and the lengths of his stupidity amazed her. At times, they _could _stand together and see eye to eye on certain things, if they could afford it.

Now was **not** one of those times.

Dante was standing in front of one of the three signs that lead to their respective paths, mouthing a few of the words as he read them.

"Hm." Dante scratched his head. "Says here, one of these paths leads to the way out."

While he was stating what Lady was sure was fairly obvious, she was scanning around for any possible exit other than those doors. There was one right outside when they were coming in, but it was blocked by rubble with no real way to get rid of it. "So, the question is, which one?" she asked, taking another look around.

"Eh, I dunno," he shrugged. "Looks like we're splitting up."

She tried not to smile; the news that she wouldn't have to be near him at all was the best thing she could hope for. It was best not to let him know that. "Fine then, I'll go this way." She pointed to the rightmost path.

"Alright, I'll go that way too."

"What!?" _Oh, hell no! _She couldn't believe her ears. "You just said we should split up!"

"I know, and I changed my mind." He said that like it was common knowledge. "Come on, there's a chance you'll find the way out."

"No, there _isn't_ a chance if you follow me!"

"What, I'm bringing bad luck or something?"

_You're bringing __**more**__ than that, you moron! _She tried not to say that aloud. Instead she closed her eyes and looked away, gritting her teeth. She could count to ten, wait 'til her anger died down, and then respond with something intelligible and not under a storm of threats. "No, what I mean is…" how to make it sound convincing… "there's a better chance if we split up. Taking two out of three paths is the better decision."

"I dunno, that sounds pretty dangerous." With that, he moved closer to her, making his intention to stick around obvious. "Hate to wonder what'd happen to you if you got caught in a trap," he said with a little smirk.

If that was his way of being noble, she wasn't going to fall for it. "I'll be _fine,_" she said curtly, settling for the first path rather than the third, intending to leave him there.

"What, you're gonna leave me all by my lonesome?"

She turned around, noticing he was giving her a rather sad look, as if to ask, 'You wouldn't do this to me, would you?' Too bad for him. "Yes."

He put a hand to his heart and gave her a sadder look. "Aww, I'm hurt," he said, giving a slight bow.

"Not like I care, idiot." She added the last word under her breath, and turned to leave, determined not to listen to him anymore, no matter what he said. She wasted enough time dragging him along.

--

He watched her leave (easily the best part of his day). He was surprised she took his word on the three paths so easily. It was really likely she was in a rush to get out and would take just about anything if it made sense, not bothering to question him. Of course, with what he'd said, she sure wasn't going to come back to do it. _Whatever, _he thought, and looked back at the three signs.

In truth, the signs stated it was necessary to undertake _two _trials, get the artifacts and return to the statue in the room prior. No one trial held the exit, but… of course _she _didn't need to know that. He just laughed, and took the second path. Maybe if the girl was lucky, she would figure out the trick to the Trial of Wisdom.

--

_Damn it; that jerk!_ She knew not to trust that asshole; her mission was to find Vergil, and Dantepurposely sent her down the wrong path! She should have figured her mistake; now she was lost somewhere in this godforsaken tower.

She had long since finished the trial, and after gaining a useless artifact (again, cursing Dante's name) fashioned an exit for herself with Kalina Ann. The exit led her to the edge of the tower among a pile of rubble and a set of stairs, which she took.

And took.

And took.

The only indicator she had that she was going anywhere was the increasing distance between her and what she could discern was the ground, somewhere stories below. However, over time she'd grown more certain it was just a trick her eyes were playing on her, as she wasn't making any _real _progress or she would have reached the peak already.

If that bastard only knew how lost she was because of him…

----

Same path, same stairs, same precipice, and she had gone no farther than where she was even a half hour before. She leaned against a wall for support, tired from her increasingly futile search for an exit. The worst case scenario would be that she was really cursed from the start to never get anywhere around the place, and at this rate…

"_What's wrong?"_

She stood upright with a start, pistol in hand, looking warily at her surroundings. It was him again. Vergil.

"_Don't tell me you're tired already," _he taunted. 

Her eyes darted left to right, but his voice rebounded off the walls, leaving an echo. It was hard to tell where he was, if he was anywhere at all. No, that wasn't the way to think. He couldn't just be a disembodied voice. Cautiously, she made it back into the tower, just near the foot of the stairs. Stairs that lead to a door that led to nowhere, but stairs nonetheless.

The devil stood at the top landing, looking down at her. Just like 'old times'. "Little Mary can't keep up," he said in a mocking tone, a gleam in his eyes when he saw the rage burning in hers.

"Don't call me by that name!" she cried, opening fire. The shots rang, the bullets flew, but they didn't hit their target. He had drawn out the Yamato and spun it like a propeller, the force stopping the bullets and rendering them harmless. He stopped, and the bullets fell uselessly. He scoffed at that lame excuse for an assault. "You humans and your guns…"

Her eyes widened, but then she gritted her teeth and narrowed her gaze. She couldn't even allow herself to be surprised in his presence. That would be weakness. Even if he was, obviously, faster than she was… she couldn't give in.

He drew into an attack stance, to her confusion. They were nowhere near each other; with an entire flight of steps between them, what was he hoping to do?

She saw a brief glimpse of something—brief, because his arm _blurred _and something shimmered. Then quickly— the space before her distorted, and acting purely on reflexes she moved away just in time to see a flash as something cut through air… and another flash, and another. She couldn't keep her balance trying to (at least narrowly) dodge the attacks and fell over. It was far too late to act now. All she could do was expect another hit, and so she braced herself, but like before, there was nothing, just his chilling laughter rebounding off the walls again. She stood, and found no one at the top of the stairs. Gone again. In her sights one moment, and out of it the next. She muttered a curse under her breath; she wouldn't let this happen again. No hesitation, no setbacks. Just shoot.

She wouldn't let herself forget it.

At the top, she found the door (that supposedly lead to nowhere) slightly ajar. Carefully, she nudged it open, expecting demons to be hiding away someplace beyond what she could see. Instead she found herself at the bottom of what looked like a well, a circular diagram on the ground before her. This was certainly different. Had Vergil's appearance broken the loop? It didn't matter. It wasn't time to think about that much. She had to find him. Maybe if she found Dante first, she could cap him in the head for doing this to her in the first place. It would serve him right.


	5. Revelation

The rain stopped, and the storm had blown over. She sighed; how long had it been since she and Dante split up? He probably reached the top by now, where Vergil was waiting. What if all she had worked for was over?

The thought set her on edge; _Damn him __**and**__ his Knight in Shining Armor complex!_ She was no damsel in distress. She did not need saving— she sure as hell didn't need anyone to do her job for her!

Now she had an even bigger reason to find him and stop him before he did anything stupid, like falling down the tower where she could see him.

_Wait… what?_

She had only seen a red blur. Quickly she made her way to the edge, and lo and behold, yes, he _was _falling. …_On purpose? _

Farther down, there was a hail of demons rushing up to meet the hunter. In a brilliant display of speed, he dispatched them easily; a storm of bullets and sword slashes leaving whatever was left of the demons to disintegrate. All without having broken his fall. He certainly knew what he was doing.

She only narrowed her eyes in contempt. "So, he's a demon too…" She'd had a suspicion the entire time, but that settled it. Turns out he was one of _them, _and just another on her list of things to kill. It made her job a lot easier for her that way, when she thought of it.

For the time being, she'd have to find her way down. Certainly if _he_ was going in that direction, she would have to follow his lead. Eventually he'd lead her to Vergil.

* * *

Dante couldn't help but be just a little annoyed.

He had good intentions, he really did, even if said 'intentions' were showing in the form of eyeing the girl and making stupid little passes at her when they were together. Of course she wasn't up for it. Of course it was neither the time nor place to do it. He _knew that_, he wasn't a moron. But the sooner he could make her want to avoid him with every fiber of her being even if it meant not advancing, the better it would be for both of them. She wouldn't be in the way, for one thing.

It was his plan from the start, one would suppose. Then again, nothing ever worked out for him, did it? When he tried to keep her away from danger, she just dove headfirst into it. Tried to set her down the wrong path, she found the right one. When he even so much as had the _audacity _to think he'd managed to one-up her by _falling down the goddamn tower, _she was waiting for him at the bottom with her gun ready to shoot.

And now, _now, _when he thought he'd finally gotten her at least a few paces away from mortal danger, and was so sure she couldn't figure out the tedious, time-consuming, decidedly dangerous puzzles he had spent _ages_ trying to figure out, he found _her_, standing a distance in front of him. Always ahead of him— it was like everyone got a free pass through the tower except him. _He _had to take a plane, a train, a car, a whale, and a fucking _wagon _to get anywhere. All she had to do was, what, step through a door, go up a flight of steps and that was it? Was there some back entrance or an elevator he wasn't aware of? He could use one.

He had half a mind to voice his complaint to her, and it wouldn't matter to him if she got mad, but he noticed something. Rather than standing alert, with her gun pointed at any source of danger, she was standing with her gun lowered, head turned up to something above.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he looked up too, and was caught by surprise.

----

"Dear _God,_ no," was all she could whisper. "No, no, no…" She stared, eyes transfixed on the sight above the doorway. Helpless again, able to do nothing except look and voice some weak protest that even she knew was useless. It's not like she could reverse what had happened.

It's not as if she would soon forget the sight of Arkham crucified, makeshift nails driven through his hands and feet, and words etched onto his skin; flayed. Just some sick reminder. She had no trouble guessing who would leave this _gift _to her.

"Well, shit, I'm no religious expert, but I'm pretty sure you don't crucify someone that way."

She only wanted to be left alone, and apparently some deity somewhere believed it right that she be stalked (like _always_) by the Shirtless Wonder. She wasn't going to put up with him or hi comments. He was behind her, but she took aim with her gun anyway, not even bothering to look. "Be quiet for once," she stated simply.

"Aw, come on, you mean you actually care?" she could swear he shrugged his shoulders, but he was behind her— she couldn't tell. "Whatever, I guess it's not every day you see some guy stuck to a wall."

She didn't hesitate much before pulling the trigger. He leaned out of the way. What, was it something he said?

Yeah, it was. "He was not _some guy!_" she shouted, emphasizing the words as if taking offense. "He was a good man… but you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Her hands and voice were shaking again and she tried to keep her aim steady. "He was killed— _murdered _because he had gotten in the way, because he tried to protect his wife! Tried to save her from _the devil,_" she uttered. They both knew she spoke of his brother, and a part of her hoped Dante realized it and shown _some_ form of recognition or looked hurt, at least— but he wouldn't. Demons didn't acknowledge the intricate details of family, or love. "You wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't understand?" Dante repeated casually, gesturing to himself with his gun. "Explain it to me, then."

At that point, she stifled a sob. Demons didn't acknowledge it at all. They knew nothing. It was hopeless to explain. She lowered her gun and turned back around to face the man who had been martyred so brutally. Tears welled up in her eyes as she murmured, "That man up there is my father."

--

Only two words could describe the situation perfectly— _Oh, __**shit**__._

She couldn't notice because her back was turned, but he was _stunned. _Stunned, and caught with a sudden urge to shove a foot in his mouth for even _thinking _her problems were so simple. If guilt had a physical force it could crush him. He would most likely survive it, of course, but it would be very, very painful.

Her family matter, in an odd way, reminded him of his own… but the difference was obvious. She was a human thrown into the entire mess, and of her own volition she sought revenge rather than being passive and leaving it to someone else. She had something to fight for, someone to fight against.

Really, he was just along for the show, and even up until then, he was aimlessly searching for something to point him in the right direction. Fighting these lesser demons and faceless figures for the sake of revenge, both of his parents gone. Lady still had someone to save. He had no one. Did that make her better?

Hell no. This was still not a human's job. If she died, she would die a failure. She _did_ have someone left, which is why he wouldn't let her go through with all of this in the first place. Not like she could acknowledge it. She hated his guts enough to want to shoot him by now. But she didn't.

"What, you're not gonna shoot?"

"Just… just go, I don't care anymore," she replied, falling to her knees.

_That's a switch, _he thought, knowing full well her switch wasn't at all unexpected. What could she do? She was just a human girl stricken over her father's death, far too young to handle the burden.

He could almost laugh at the irony. Here he was, nineteen years old, having lost his family a decade before, and yet _she_ was too young? He could laugh, but she wouldn't take it too well.

--

She tried to keep the tears from coming, but her effort was in vain. She scolded herself for it. Was that all she could do around demons? Cry, and show them how weak she really was? That wasn't what she had come so far for.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. She raised her arm to wipe away at her eyes. No need to let _him_ see her like this. It was bad enough he didn't care. Demons— what could anyone expect from them?

The door to the next room creaked open. It shut after a while. She was alone again, with her father. Nothing left but to look at his corpse. Oh, right. This time, he was nailed to the wall. This time, he wouldn't disappear. Somehow, that realization was what made her sob and cry once more.

**--**

He could still hear her. It wasn't so hard; she was the only one making any real noise. He had to resist the urge to slam a fist into the wall nearest him. _Damnit, Vergil!_ Damn him, for having sided with the demons. He was the one who dragged this girl into their mess. She had nothing to do with them, or with whatever the hell Vergil was after.

Now he had to make things right for her, and he couldn't help but give that some thought. Of course he was bearing one more burden on his shoulders than he was supposed to, but he could deal with it. It was important; it was something he had to do. For her.

Thinking about her made his anger die out, and he smiled a little. Letting personal feelings get in the way of his mission? That was just bad for business.


	6. Sacrifice

Both swords stopped mid-clash. The twins' heads turned, their gaze resting on the figure standing at the entrance of the chamber. Dante's eyes widened, slightly shocked. Vergil stared impassively, as if he expected their 'guest'.

The young woman walked in, a stern glare directed at the twins, and a lazy grip on her Kalina Ann. She didn't intend to use it, yet. Her eyes traveled back and forth between the brothers, expecting one of them to say something. Almost as if on cue, Dante moved from his spot, striding towards her.

"Sorry Lady, but you shouldn't be here," he said casually. Last he'd seen Lady, she was grieving and so he honestly didn't expect her to show up so soon. But somehow, he'd hoped that when she had, he would've done her job for her. That was what he had resolved to do, after all. No need for her to be in danger.

She didn't move, only stared. The demon hunter sighed; she wanted her revenge, but didn't she understand? He'd have to explain it another way. "Okay, tell you what- you can wait outside—"

"Shut up!" she said through clenched teeth, aiming her missile launcher at him. All in all, he didn't flinch. Being told to shut up or threatened with death was a daily occurrence now, it seemed, and especially from her. Yet despite her angry glaring, Dante could still see the tear streaks on her face and in light of that, tried not to give her a look of pity. In light of _everything_, he tried not to pity her. She didn't need that.

Meanwhile, she was unconsciously prodding him with the bayonet of Kalina Ann. Maybe she didn't notice she was doing it. Maybe she wanted him out of the way so she could exact her revenge or something or other. "I get it," he said it half-heartedly, "but it doesn't mean I have to stand back and watch."

"That's all you're going to do, _demon!_" she spat, obvious hostility in her voice. He really thought he had a real role in all of this? She shook her head. "No… this has nothing to do with me being a human and you being a demon," she corrected, "but just for the record, I never counted on you anyway."

For a fleeting moment, Dante felt something stir in his heart. Something familiar, yet he couldn't identify it, as if the real emotion had faded long ago and just a shadow of it brushed past. He couldn't convey it, so he merely looked confused.

Lady could see it; she struck something. So she lowered her weapon, a half-smile creasing her lips. She could drive it home a little farther. "You'd do anything for a pretty lady, won't you? Risk your life if she's in danger? Even lose a keepsake? You don't even know why you're really _here._"

His fists clenched. So, all this time she didn't trust him about as far as he could fall. He'd had the suspicion; ever since they'd met, there was something about the way she looked at him, and it was that she_couldn't._Not without seeing the face of her father's murderer. Not without hating him. At the very least, he could find comfort in knowing it took him so long to figure she was only leading him on, with nothing for him to trust except a pretty face and body. A sad enough story would have him at her feet, and it did.

She brushed past him, making her way to the center of the room. He didn't react in the slightest. Not a quip or a smirk or some snarky comment or a twitch to let her know she _brushed him—_nothing.

"My, my, it seems you've broken his heart," Vergil said, his voice carrying an undertone of amusement. Lady only looked on, watching Dante standing there by the entrance. His shoulders were shaking… was he crying?

"What now?" she asked Vergil, trying to brush away the thought. It was no use mulling over useless things. She had done as she was asked, nothing apart from that would distract her.

"The incantation will be lifted, the tower will regain its full function, and the gateway to Hell will open," Vergil replied, looking down at the set of blood in the center of the room. There was no real need to hide his intentions from the girl. It's not as if anyone could stop him.

That's what he thought, right before he heard the sound of a hammer being cocked.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Lady uttered.

Vergil only smirked.

Yamato's sheath snapped at Lady's wrist, making her drop her gun. Quickly, she backed away and pulled out another, still intent on shooting. She missed again; Vergil was too fast for her to follow, much less avoid. She tried, again and again, and again, determined to get a shot in. She had to stop him, before the spell lifted completely! She ran out of ammo. No time to reload, so she tossed the guns aside and pulled out new ones. Still, she missed—she couldn't get a clear shot!

Vergil pressed on, apparently concerned with her more than anything, but he was forced away as Dante rushed in, trying to distance the two. Blades struck, blow after blow was parried and neither one of the two landed a hit. Then the red-clad twin swung, but he'd left an opening in his attack. Yamato slashed at his side, cutting him open and making him stumble. He crashed to the floor, trying to keep himself up with Rebellion. Vergil readied his attack; he wasn't going to give Dante time to recover.

_Bang—bang—bang._Vergil stepped back, and as more shots rang out he dashed quickly to the sides, avoiding the huntress's gunfire. It was obvious she had no intention of backing down.

Dante tried to stand, but he was far too exhausted. Instead he shouted, "What the hell, Lady! Get out of here!" She was the one he was trying to save; it made no sense if she stayed to fight!

Lady flinched at that; _he still cares? Even after_—no, she couldn't let herself get distracted.

Vergil set his sights on her again, and reflexively she readied her Kalina Ann to guard against him just as he teleported. The weapons clashed; she tried to fend off the Yamato, but her knees shook under the weight as he forced her down.

He hardly twitched. "Why did you come here? Was it for revenge?"

She stood her ground. "I won't forgive you for killing him! He was innocent!"

"Is that what you think? Foolish girl."

Vergil vanished. Lady didn't have time to wonder where. He appeared behind her just as she whirled around to look. Yamato struck and sent Kalina Ann right out of her hands, skidding along the ground. Acting on instinct, she balled her hands into fists, determined to fight him even while unarmed.

Bad move; Vergil delivered a solid punch to the demon huntress, knocking the wind out of her. It was like taking a brick wall to the stomach. She doubled over then fell on her hands and knees, gasping for air and coughing, trying to gather her strength. She turned her head up to look at him, gritting her teeth. She didn't want to show weakness in front of him; not like she had before.

Yet she was in such an immodest position.

"Did you really think I would let you live, knowing you would do this?" Obviously, it was a rhetorical question coming from him.

Lady tried to rise back to her feet, but instead her hand shot to her injury. She couldn't get up like this, let alone move. Fingers ran through her hair then turned to a tight fist, gathering her hair by clumps. Her head was yanked back as she was forced upright.

The blood froze in her veins as he hissed in her ear, "It is time to put you in your place, little girl."

She writhed, trying to free herself from his grip, raising her free hand to pry his fingers away. Instead she was rewarded with a tighter coil. Yamato was leveled to her throat in order to keep her still.

"What do you think it took to seal the tremendous force of this tower? The two amulets, a set of Sparda's blood… There is only one thing missing." He spoke to both his twin and the huntress with those words.

Dante gritted his teeth; it was _so_ like Vergil to be giving a history lesson in the middle of beating someone to the ground. What was he talking about, anyway?

"All that is left," Vergil continued, forcing Lady to her feet as he did so, "is the blood of a mortal priestess."

* * *

Lady matched Dante's equally shocked look. Suddenly everything came together- how could she have been so stupid! Chiding Dante for his thinking he had a role, and she was the one being played the entire time. No- they were _both_ fooled. And now... what was going to happen?

Yamato was pressed closer to her throat, almost drawing blood. She gritted her teeth; so, this was it? She was going to be the sacrifice?

Not if Dante could help it. In an act of desperation he charged again. Vergil wasn't going to use her, not on his watch, and he would separate them even if it meant he had to cut the fucker's arm off— even if it meant killing him. It certainly didn't mean Vergil using Lady as his shield. No, it would never mean that. But that's exactly what it amounted to, and Dante stopped dead in his tracks, almost poised to strike.

"What's wrong?" Vergil goaded. "You're not going to attack?" Dante refused to answer, instead gripping Rebellion tightly. Yet he made no more effort to attack than he did a second before.

Lady tried not to react. He wouldn't strike simply because her life was in danger? What kind of demon was he? She tried to force the thought from her mind. No, it wasn't because her life was at stake. That couldn't be it. He just didn't attack because if he missed, it meant spilling her blood, and that would completely undo the seal. Neither of them wanted that. That was the only explanation.

She could continue deluding herself with the neutral ground for a little while longer.

Vergil removed the blade, and she resisted the urge to take a deep sigh. This was no time to feel relieved, for he still held fast to her, and she was still injured and in no condition to move of her own will. He knew this as well as she did... which is why spectral swords formed from thin air and impaled Dante in his moment of hesitation.

* * *

Swords embedded themselves into Dante's shoulders and chest. He stumbled backwards, the pain forcing him to let go of Rebellion as he nearly keeled over. Despite that, he fought for balance, keeping a solid footing. He wasn't going down without a fight. He took a step forward, and his vision reeled.

Suddenly he was aware that he was bleeding all over himself. How much blood had he lost? Oh damn… was it all his? Where did his healing factor go?

His mouth opened to say something, and blood bubbled up instead. Damned swords; one of them caught his lungs. He couldn't reach to pull them away, since his arms were useless.

Damn, damn, he wasn't going to pull off any heroics like this.

Still, he had to. Lady was in danger. To hell with what she'd said earlier; he was still hired to do a job, and whether or not it really entailed protecting her he would do it anyway. He took another step forward. Swords dug into his legs this time. There was no helping it; he fell.

Halfway to the floor, he blacked out.

* * *

To even attempt to stifle a gasp was futile. She had to watch as Dante collapsed, dragging what was left of her hope with him. This was it? Would they be finished here?

Vergil's hold loosened slightly. He couldn't be bothered to babysit the little girl; he was too busy reveling in his second victory against his brother, as evidenced by the smug smirk he wore, as if nothing could stop him. Nothing could. Not anymore.

The fear of that actually being true was enough to get her back on her feet. She broke free as best as she could, but only managed to take a few steps before a clawed hand wrapped itself around her throat and squeezed. Her hands shot up to pry the fingers away, but it was no use. The grip was too strong.

Feeble coughs were forced out of her as her life was slipping away, slowly. Her vision was beginning to swim and her attempts at escaping lost their strength. She was drifting in and out of consciousness. Panic rose in the back of her mind— _I can't die here. I can't. I can't. Not like this._

How much longer could she hold on?

The faint sense of being dragged somewhere was what held her on to the waking world. Somewhere, in the background, she could hear words, yet the voice was indistinct. It felt like she was dreaming.

No, dreams of hers were never like this. They were never plagued with murderous intent and vengeance and towers and demon twins. They were never this painful.

Finally, Vergil tossed her aside. She fell to the floor right beside the set. She struggled to rise, taking her breaths now that she could. Her eyes fluttered open as she looked through pain-misted eyes at the blue half-devil. "Vergil," she whispered. The sound was too soft. Did it even reach him?

The older twin turned his head to regard her. She attempted a hostile glare, but she was fighting more to regain her consciousness than come off as strong. He smirked in response, and his eyes went over to the younger twin. "Look closely, Dante, as I take from you what you've so treasured." He turned to her, meeting her confused expression.

Then her eyes widened. She said nothing, only sputtered in shock. However, she wanted to say something. She _needed _to, but she couldn't. She couldn't speak, just… feel. What she felt was… _pain?_

No, no, this wasn't happening. She looked down to find Yamato embedded in her abdomen. Pain had spread, the bloodstain blossoming on her shirt. Then the blade was ripped out— she gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the cry of pain that threatened to tear free from her lungs. She pitched forward to the ground. Did she expect someone to catch her? Anyone at all? Because she fell to her knees and onto the floor, and no one did any such thing. Leaving her to bleed.

Leaving her to die.

Her blood was seeping into the etchings of the chamber as if being absorbed by the tower itself, and she could do nothing to stop it. Only clutch at her wound and hope against hope that it would stop, that it would just stop bleeding.

_Stop it, I don't want to die! I don't…_

She whimpered pathetically. Her eyes squeezed shut but the tears showed through regardless.

She was such a weak little girl in the end, wasn't she? She wanted to be a strong Lady. Instead, all she ended up being was just some fake, just some outer shell to hide weak, timid Mary, fearful Mary, the girl who was really so afraid of dying she sought for a God she thought had forsaken her so long ago and whom she had ignored in kind to _save her_. She was such a weakling.

Her dear and dead papa would be _so proud._

Above, there was a rumbling noise as the walls shook and the tower shifted. Rocks were falling from above to the point where it felt like the room would cave. The altar set in the middle of the room had already risen in response to the blood offering, and the platform was making its slow ascent to the top.

She opened her eyes; she didn't want to die in the dark. What she wanted was one last look; just one, at least— and she saw Dante. Oh, no. He was still struck with Vergil's countless summoned swords. They'd retained their shape long after they should have broken on contact, now sticking into him like he was a human-sized pincushion. His arms, his torso and legs… the only place he hadn't been hit was above the neck. It was a sad sight. He could hardly move. But he tried to, he struggled to, he raised his head to look at her—

And their eyes met.

He looked neither cocky, nor angry; but there was no reassuring look that he could get better. He simply looked, for lack of a better word, pained, distressed… apologetic.

…To her?

Was he apologizing to _her?_

If she could laugh, she would. She wasted both their lives… but how, exactly? Why? _He's a demon… why does he care?_

She didn't know what happened next; only that Dante was saying something, but whatever it was, she couldn't hear it. There was nothing, no sight to her eyes, no sound reaching her ears.

To her, everything just ceased to be.


	7. Memoria

That voice was taunting him.

"What is this girl _worth_ to you? Would you really throw away power for the sake of one miserable human life? … Look closely, Dante, as I take from you what you've so treasured."

He hadn't had a choice in the matter, and all he could do was look. A sense of despair overwhelmed him. It was like witnessing _her _death all over again.

No, it was different this time. With Eva, he was a defenseless child. She had given her life to save him, told him to run away. He had no excuse this time, now that he was stronger. Now that running was no longer an option.

The details were indistinct back then. Eva was torn apart by demons of varying sizes; that was all he knew. He had pushed it to the back of his mind for years, and what little memory of it he had was left for his nightmares to exaggerate and replay. Here, Lady suffered at the hands of _his brother. _He wouldn't soon forget it. Not in this lifetime.

He lowered his head. He wouldn't forgive himself for his inability, his selfishness or foolishness. It was for nothing. He couldn't protect one person. He couldn't protect _himself. _The thought would haunt him far worse than any wild dream.

The room was beginning to cave as the tower reacted, and for a moment he mused over how, maybe, guilt _would_ take a physical form for him. Before it did, he struggled to raise his head, take one last look, at least—

And their eyes met.

Lady didn't look so brave. Everything crumbled around them, and she wasn't as fearless as she had wanted to make herself. She was frightened, regretful, and _human._ Lady was face-to-face with her own mortality, but even despite that, she seemed to be waiting for something from him; a response, or a look, perhaps. Something to tell her that maybe he could break free and save her as best he could. But he couldn't. Not with what little strength he had. He could only give her a look to tell her 'I'm sorry,' because he _was_ sorry.

He was a sorry excuse for a hero.

At that moment, he saw something in her eyes. Brief recognition, perhaps, then her eyes slowly shut. The last action she would take.

_Enough is __**enough**__._

He gritted his teeth, and ignored the pain shooting through his body as he dragged himself to the rising platform. This wasn't the end! It couldn't be!

Rocks and rubble crashed against the floor of the chamber. The debris was pelting his sides, but he continued to ignore it. He planted his hands firmly on the ground and tried to push himself up, sliding his legs underneath to rise to his knees. He coughed blood and hurriedly wiped it away, nearly toppling over from the quick movement and the lightheaded feeling. It didn't matter; he had to get to his feet, but these _swords _were in the way!

There was no thought to it; he gripped the hilt of one of the spectral weapons and yanked. Paused, grabbed another, pulled. Paused, grabbed another, and yet another. His body would have to heal on its own, damn it.

He gasped and tossed his head back. Oh, not again, he was losing his balance. His vision swirled.

Somewhere above him, he didn't know where, Vergil approached the edge of the platform. He was looking down on Dante with an expression of contempt (and it was always contempt, for they were _never_ equals).

Dante was breathing heavily, trying to keep himself up and conscious. His eyelids fluttered and his vision blurred but he could see what was happening. Most of it.

Vergil smirked and held something in his hand, his fingers twiddling about with it as if he would drop it. It was a pulsating form of light. "I have no more use for this," he murmured to himself. He turned his hand over, relaxed his grip, releasing the object and letting it fall the rest of the way down. The blue-clad devil made his way back to the center, leaving Dante to his fate.

The younger twin had by then reluctantly given in to the mounting feeling of vertigo and fallen over on his back, continuously gasping as if he hadn't any more air to breathe. Were his lungs still torn? He couldn't feel any more, it was hard to tell…

He was staring down a tunnel already … he was hallucinating, he was sure… there was no way he was seeing a light as if something (… Someone…?) were waiting for him…

Didn't matter anymore, his eyes were closing.

His breathing slowed…

_Giving up so soon… it's just not my style_…

As the falling light neared, its descent slowed. It landed soundlessly on Dante's near-lifeless form before seemingly melting into him, but he didn't move. Not a hair in his head stirred out of place. No rise and fall of the chest. No consciousness.

----

Dying felt so strange, didn't it? It was rather cold, too, and soundless, save for the faint shifting of the air reaching his ears, and echoes. Many, many echoes above him.

… but the dead couldn't hear. Or feel. What the hell kind of death did he experience? What afterlife was this?

He opened his eyes. He shouldn't have had to, but he did. _Oh, holy hell._ He was met with the very familiar sight of the same damn room he was _in_. Etchings of the massive pillar were glowing, its light illuminating the sacrificial chamber. Or at least, what was left of it.

He felt around, to make sure this was happening. His arms? Legs? Clothes were torn, but… no sign of injury. Nothing on the torso either. He got up slowly. He was still sore from the ordeal, but otherwise… _I'm just fine?_ It didn't make any sense. What brought him back? He had to get a better grasp of the situation.

Needed to get a better look around… The floor broke open into a couple of chasms here and there, but not where he was standing. He started walking. Needed something to focus on… Everything was eerily still. Too still.

Vergil had reached the top already, that much was certain. The demon world would open soon and everything would be overrun. It was obvious that he had to stop that from happening. Had to focus, find an exit—

Something made him halt.

It was the carefully modified weapon with the blade at its end that served as a grappling hook, the one with the engraving of a name that didn't quite belong to its owner. That's what he saw. It sent him right back around to regretting his loss. Yet he approached it, carefully as one would a living, timid thing, and picked it up.

He thought of honoring her. Carry out her vengeance like he'd first wanted to do. He shouldered the launcher and the burden, mind set.

The next events hadn't left much of an impression in his memory. He knew he was running with the intention of making it to the top before the gate was completely unsealed; he knew that along the way, he crushed the lesser demons that tried to oppose him, with little effort yet so much more force than he was used to. He couldn't answer why. A part of him wanted to attribute it to the adrenaline, or maybe it was something else entirely.

Couldn't be; it wasn't as if he were _coping_. What could he have to deal with in such a manner? … No, he never really 'coped', he only sought revenge. That's just who he was.

He reached the end of the trek; the dead end outside of the tower from the broken half of the garden. The portal there was the only way out, it looked like. He stepped in, and as the light flared up and nearly blinded him he covered his eyes. A moment later when he uncovered them, he found he was standing in the middle of his broken down shop. He took a look around, at the walls, the rubble, what was left of it when…

A familiar feeling stirred, but he pushed it away and walked out of the office.

It was almost as if he were sent there just to think about her for a while…

Down the cracked open street, past the bar and club, his mind kept wandering as he followed the path back to the tower as if he weren't getting sidetracked enough already. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on the task, on stopping his brother.

Yet the entrance to the tower was sealed. He wasn't welcome anymore.

He was about to bite back a growl in obvious irritation, but above him, a light attracted his eyes, causing him to turn his head up. He expected it to be the same thing from before, but he was wrong.

Wrong as he was, he tried to entertain the notion that maybe then, he was _definitely_ hallucinating. There was no possible way _angels _were coming down from the sky. He could take the tunnel vision and the weird light, maybe he was going to count his resurrection as another thing as well, but this was just _awful._

They were coming down in droves (flocks?) and readying their lances. In turn, he readied himself.

It didn't matter one way or the other. He was going to have some fun with what he could.

He gave himself a running start. Reaching the edge of an upraised street, he leapt up towards the demons. A lance thrust in his direction. He dodged with a bend of his body then flipped and grabbed the weapon as the fallen angel swung it upwards. He used the momentum to move farther up.

He drew his pistols in the blink of an eye. Ebony and Ivory rang out, the former knocking the angels back and the latter keeping the enemies stunned with rapid fire. One of the fallen angels was particularly close. As gravity was pulling him back, he planted his feet on the angel and jumped from there, continuing his ascent.

He heard a rumbling noise, the sound of cracking and shifting rubble. The tower was coming apart, a good chunk of it falling in his direction. Below him, the angels were stunned no longer and were flying up to meet him. He only smirked and holstered his guns. He was going to wait and see what happened next.

A few of them thought they could get an advantage by flying ahead of the others and surrounding him from different sides. They only made themselves easier targets.

An angel thrust his lance up and went for a downswing. The attack was only a few inches from Dante's face when he snapped his fingers, causing everything to slow down to a crawl before him. He lifted his hand to grip the weapon and hoist himself above it to stand then leapt from there to the angel that was situated behind him. Kicked it upside the head, bounced from there to the top and used the angels above as stepping stones. He made his way up towards the falling wall, but it wasn't enough. Still too much distance.

This time, he pulled Kalina Ann from behind his back and pointed it. _Time to put this thing to better use! _He fired the bayonet through a person-sized gap. It sailed past, lodging itself on a still-intact side of the tower. That was it! As the cable started pulling, he snapped his fingers again and dispelled the magic. Normal time; he made it through the opening and a lucky few of the angels managed to follow him up the same way. The rest were crushed.

He gained his footing on the side of the tower, dislodged the weapon and broke into a sprint, nearing the larger opening that the wall had come from. He made another leap. He was close enough; he had to close that distance!

That's when the angels rammed into him and tossed him farther up than he was expecting. _Fucking fantastic. _One of them had the nerve to plow into his back and wind him. That was definitely going to hurt sometime later.

His body was hurtling through the sky. He didn't know which direction he was going. Probably down. Gravity didn't work backwards.

He saw a flash of blue and the flat of a lance struck him. Another, then another. They were just batting him around like a toy! This was _not _stylish in the least.

The good news was that they let up on the attack. The bad news being that now, he was definitely falling. They were following him down. Even if landing from so high above were to kill him, they weren't taking any chances. They pulled their arms back, generating energy again.

Somewhere in the confusion and spinning vision and rapid descent, something told him to **wake up**.

He gave a jolt and regained his balance in midair, a platform appearing under his feet, keeping him stable. It was just in time for him to dodge the first attack and the bolt sailed harmlessly past. The second bolt met his outstretched arm and fist and was deflected.

He got a look at his arms and noticed the gauntlets covering the limbs. It resembled that demon from before, the blind one. When did he get these?

He almost hesitated but the shock subsided quickly. No use in pondering that. He had to see what this thing could do!

The remaining enemies—five of them—circled around him, hesitant, waiting for an opening. They were the only ones left? This was going to be too easy.

Quick run to the end of the platform. A leap. The demon expected a punch. He faked and kicked it. It reeled back from the force. He propelled himself forward with magic and rebounded off of the demon, towards the opening.

They made a valiant effort in stopping him, if one refers to the tried and stale tossing of lances and weaponry as such. He just snapped their lances in two. They recoiled with their broken weapons, so he broke their wings as well. They flailed and tried to regenerate their barriers. He awarded them with recompense in the form of Rebellion through their exposed torsos. It was the very least he could do. He yanked one as it reeled from the injury and tossed its half into the others, crashing them all in a mess of feathers and bone.

The last one, the only whole one in the flock, was given the special task of breaking Dante's fall. He landed on that one with all the force he could muster, sending it to the open ground. The angel was crushed against the pavement and rubble, making noticeable marks as it slid. It was coming apart in pieces.

It came to a stop, just before a raised level of ground. Dante lifted his arms up in a show of mock-appreciation for an invisible audience and bowed graciously. Meanwhile, the other defeated angels fell around him as he kept his head down. They dissipated into light.

He could perfect his landing in due time. For now, it was great as it was.

"Too bad no one's here to enjoy the show, again," he muttered to himself. He stood up again, but a thought of taking a step forward had to be held.

The young woman relaxed the grip on her pistol as she stood before him, apparently having seen the spectacle. The two-toned gaze softened, from irritation to simple, mild disappointment. Dark, feathered hair shook as she showed her disapproval of his fooling around. She was turning away from him.

"Lady," he called out.

She didn't hear him. Kept turning and walked away towards the door.

"Lady, wait!"

She kept walking. But the door—

Static. Fading.

She was gone in the blink of an eye.

His jaw went slack. _What was…?_

He thought, but said nothing of it. He only wondered how just how long it could take for him to come to terms.


	8. Unsettling Doubt

It was silent at the top of the Temen-ni-Gru. The wind whistled and swirled past, but it did not move Vergil. No, he remained still, calm, pondering his choices and waiting for something. He closed his eyes.

His plan had gone well so far, the first success being when he'd killed that foolish man and angered the young woman. His death was enough to lead her straight here, but of course—Vergil needed the other half of the amulet. The young lady served as a good lure for Dante, and she knew it as well and tried to turn that fact against them both. What a pity for her; he kept her in the dark of her true purpose, and she was too late to act when it was all laid out. She paid dearly for her mistake.

Dante as well; it seemed as if he had learned little from their previous meeting at the peak of the tower—he was just as foolhardy as ever. Yet there was something different about him when they fought once again in the lair of judgment. Dante was a fool, true, but he tried to face his obstacle with more weight on his shoulders than he was used to, and a resolve in his eyes.

Vergil almost thought it tragic that Dante had fallen before him that second time. What a shame; if only the two 'heroes' learned not to doubt each others' strength, things would have turned out differently. Then again… that was what he'd meant to do. Weaken them and turn them against each other. The task was easy enough.

He'd fulfilled the first part of his goal, and the second one would be carried out soon enough. As he stood, he waited for a 'signal' of sorts.

The grinding noise broke the silence outside of his thoughts. Parts of the tower below were shifting, turning about like gears of a clock, then snapping into place.

He opened his eyes, lips turning downward in a slight scowl. Dante was alive, after all. A thought flitted across his mind— Dante was making use of the gift he had left, wasn't he?— but he couldn't be bothered to entertain the idea. It was time to set the rest of the plan in motion. Slowly, he turned to face towards the center, but his eyes were not focused on the set of blood, rather than on the subject nearby.

There Lady lay beside the altar, a hand clutching the wound that had long since bled out. The color was flushed from her, leaving a deathly pallor in its stead while the blood had stained her blouse a vivid red. That color belonged to her, in her, and her white was supposed to be _pure._ But the two were one and the scheme was off, the purity tainted.

He knelt beside her. Slowly, he reached a hand and let his fingers touch her. Delicate; his fingers brushed back a bit of her hair, the leather from his half-glove passing over her skin. He could see it; as hard as she tried to keep calm during those last minutes, her brows were furrowed in a deep-set frustration. An anger only held in her two-toned eyes. Oh, those eyes. They connected her to her father, but that was all. The colors were hers all their own, and the fire that burned within them gave her life— a life that he had taken… a life built around one little falsehood.

Carefully, he turned her over, raised her body upright, supporting her head so it didn't loll back uselessly. Her hand slipped from the killing wound, and he thought he heard a sigh escape her lips. But no, it was just the wind blowing past. She was long gone, as far as anyone was concerned, but it was only as far as he would permit her to be.

His right arm held her; with his left he reached into his coat, coming up with a small orb. His gaze would rest on her face once more, and a feeling, some kind of deep longing, tugged at him. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind, and pressed the orb to her open wound. Light radiated from it as disappeared into her body, and all at once, the wound disappeared, warmth and color came back to her and she gave a long-desired gasp for breath.

Lady had woken from what she thought was a nightmare impossible to run from, a nightmare full of fright and confusion, demon twins and pain and blood, and an oblivion that enveloped all else. She took sharp breaths, trying to gather her senses. To be alive was overwhelming, but she could feel. She could feel someone was holding her, cradling her it seemed. Her eyes fluttered open; she could look at her savior.

That _savior_, with ice blue eyes and a calm condescending expression that always _belittled _her…

She pushed him away, the sudden upsurge in emotion supporting her as she quickly scrambled to her feet, ready, expecting him to draw his weapon and knowing she had none. No, this was all wrong; if anything brought her back from death, it would be her hatred for him. She would show no gratitude towards the Devil himself. But with no weapon, what could she hope to do? She felt vulnerable, almost useless without her Kalina Ann to hold onto, and he knew it. She ground her teeth; yeah, he probably did know it… and if anything, he would enjoy killing her slowly for the hell of it again just because.

Calmly, he got to his feet and approached her. She retreated in turn. His advance was slow, deliberate, while her retreat was done in a panic, just some and any effort to distance herself from him. She had nowhere to run to, however. It was just her, and him, alone at the peak of the tower. If there was an exit, she wasn't familiar with it.

She couldn't let that stop her. Doubt would hinder all progress if she so much as let it. So he stepped towards her, and she backed away. Continued to do so, and they circled the platform. She sought safety, far and away from him, but she couldn't afford to look behind her or take her eyes off him for even a second, so when she backed into a large statue, her first reaction was to give a sudden, startled jump. He only kept advancing.

Panic nearly seized her muscles, but she tensed in anger instead. She felt her boot brush into something. Looked down and realized it was one of her pistols. She grasped it and dearly hoped she hadn't used all of the bullets, but there was only one way to find out. The human held it shakily in both hands, pointing it at the devil before her. She tried desperately to make herself ready.

The tower rumbled again as its pieces spun and locked in place for a second time. Neither of them moved from where they were.

Vergil did not feel obligated to stop her from pulling that trigger. He could, but he, in his own way, refused to defend himself from her this time. His expression was solemn.

"Go on," he said to her. "That _is _what you came all this way for, isn't it? For revenge?"

She gritted her teeth at his words. He was honestly egging her on? Trying to get her to shoot? God, she wanted to, she _needed _to, he was right! It was her mission; her entire life! It was all for this one moment. Yet… even though that was the case… she couldn't. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

She bowed her head and lowered her gun. It was different than back then. She was paralyzed by fear at that time. Here… she was… confused. She was confused and distraught, but no longer so deluded. Deluded in thinking she could take him on alone like this. She couldn't then, she couldn't now. She was a human, and he was demon, so much more powerful than she. Besides, there weren't enough bullets in the gun to make her feel better anyway, even if fully loaded.

…Surely, when one was defeated, they had something to say; a threat that they would not be so easily taken advantage of the next time, or a noble concession, something appropriate. Something that was better than what she could say, what her word was. A hushed, "Why?"

The question was met with silence, then, a slow breath.

She was still looking at the ground when he closed the distance, and only got a glimpse of his shadow when his fingers curled around her chin and brought her face up. She sucked in a breath as she looked into his eyes.

What she saw in them brought out one of the other many human emotions of hers that she'd promised never to show a demon; awe. She trembled, and her voice betrayed her along with the rest of her body for she couldn't speak. That's what it was. She couldn't speak.

He drew close, but she turned away at the last moment. He pulled away. He knew she sensed something different in him, something that set him apart from Dante. But then, she couldn't give that difference a name, so she would be truly confused.

He could see her trying to dispel the confusion, the number of things she'd wanted to say that were so adamant on forcing themselves out at once. Her gaze went back down to the floor and her fingers curled and gripped the fabric of her blouse. Her hand was over her heart. Was she wounded there too?

"Why?" she asked again. "What is all of this for? What _happened,_" she paused, feeling as if she were going to hit a nerve as she had in the beginning (to Dante instead of Vergil, but here it would be worse). She faltered, so unsure of herself, but she needed to know. "What happened to you that would cause all of this?"

His expression did not change. It was as if he felt nothing personal. Ah, no, there was nothing wrong, and he had his motives questioned all of the time.

"You ask what this is for. The structure, the ritual, everything up until now has been done to attain the power of Sparda."

Lady heard that answer clearly, but she remained standing, staring, trying to piece the details together, still curious.

"So you would throw away the most important things for the sake of power?" She had to stop herself from asking if he would throw away what made him human.

Vergil tilted his head at her question; an almost innocent gesture had Dante been the one making it, but on him, it looked as if he were just peering into her soul. Nothing much, just a quick look-through, to see what it would reveal. He probably found her disbelief amusing although he would never show it. She already noted their difference, so why ask?

The tower shifted a third time. Dante would be finishing up soon, it seemed.

Vergil turned away from Lady and walked towards the center again. All of her questions needed an answer, but not yet. Not from him. "I can't say for certain."

"Then what _can _you say!?" The way he behaved almost unnerved her. Willing to speak one moment, enigmatic the next— naturally she wondered if he was _lying_, but that wouldn't make sense.

He didn't answer her. As annoying as that habit was, there was only one more thing she needed to know. He couldn't refuse her this. "Did you kill him?" Her voice was calm.

His was as well, with so short an answer. "No."

She felt relieved for a while at Dante still being alive, but that only brought up more questions. Why would Vergil be so bent on unleashing demons on the human world, yet not only refrain from finishing off one obstacle, but outright reviving the other after using them both like pawns?

Vergil looked over his shoulder at her. "The way down from here is at your right. Head to the library, you'll find your answers there. Go quickly; the demons that will come through the portal are much stronger than the ones you've faced, and many times as numerous. Your safety is not guaranteed if you stay here."

Lady would have been too stunned to move if she weren't already so from the previous minutes. It was so odd to her; the devil she swore to kill was trying to keep her out of any more harm. What for? The answers she sought would be in … a library?

"Well? What's taking you so long to leave?"

Lady made an indignant huff, as if to say 'I heard you the first time!' and turned to leave as he'd ordered.

The staircase wound down against the side of the tower, and she followed the path past the moonlit bridge to the gate on the other end. She reached for the handle on the door, paused— it hit her suddenly that she was really taking Vergil's words at face value, simply believing what he'd said. She hesitated. What could she do? What if he _wasn't_ telling the truth?

Her thoughts were drowned out suddenly by the chime of bells that tolled and rang above her. It would have sounded heavenly, had the tower not been created for the opposite effect.

She tried to clear her head, finally. Gripped the handles, pulled the doors open. She would see what awaited her in the library, wherever that happened to be. If nothing, then she would come back, follow Vergil on his path to Hell if she had to, and seek the answers she'd expected to hear.

She'd know better this time; she'd honestly ask for assistance.

Dante was still alive, after all.


	9. to Reconcile

There were some ideas that Dante didn't have to get used to, what with all the exposure. One idea being that this was a demonic tower, and mind-bending puzzles were par for the course in his journey to prevent his brother from wreaking havoc among the town and eventually the world. Yet, there was something about playing some 'Demonville' version of Wheel of Fortune just to have the trisected tower put itself together that got him in a bad mood.

Maybe it was because it turned out he was being expected to fetch a lousy stone he'd seen before— pieces of it, anyway.

Or perhaps it was the absence of actual demons. They had recently gotten into the habit of staying away from him as if conscious of his power and presence. No shrieks coming from weird tentacle monsters, no groans of lousy scythe-wielding gun fodder… Everything was too silent as a result.

Or it might have been because he didn't give himself any time to rest. He found out the hard way that he couldn't. To give in to his desire to stop (for even a moment) would be to let his mind take the reins and fill in the empty, quiet gap with what he felt it was lacking (for instance, the echo of footsteps, or maybe a sigh or two).

It aggravated him to know that every time he stopped to turn his head around, certain that for once, _just once, _he wasn't making up the noises and there was truly a certain someone behind him, trailing him, that he was wrong. He _was_ making it up. There was _not_ and would _never_ be anyone reluctantly following behind him, making her own comments and bossing him around like he was used to. That notion was best left alone, and so he stopped giving in and forced himself to look ahead.

The hums and whirs and grating noises kept him company, eventually. The echoes of the tower drowned out his thoughts, sure, but by that point, he wasn't aware that he was thinking anyway. That helped to ease him as well.

Finally, the pieces came together and the elevator was in working condition. Another annoyance; it helped not to have too lofty standards, but a direct ticket upwards to the top would have done him a great service. Instead he ended up in another chamber with _another_ empty carving that needed _another_ thematic set of items to work.

Dante just sighed and shifted his shoulders. Kalina Ann was pressing on his back. Complaints aside, he stepped out of the elevator. Standing in one spot wasn't going to solve things, after all.

At that moment, the tower started to rumble, differently from when the tower was turning in place, and he looked around. Small bits of rubble dislodged from the high ceiling and fell at his feet. The noise was slowly being drowned out by the sound of bells tolling. At first he found the noise to be… odd, to say the least. Then sound started to resonate a little deeper than comfortable, and things began to slip downhill from there.

It started with a bit of a muscle twitch. He winced and put his hand on the opposite shoulder. Understandable, he worked himself a little too much. Then every part of him tried to collapse in on itself, some kind of tugging motion working its way all over his body and causing him to drop to his knees as the full-bodied heaving took over.

His power started pulsating, coiling and lashing out everywhere. He was unstable; he saw himself changing forms in a heartbeat, on and off and on and off over and over again.

Just as quickly as it started, it stopped. He fell on all fours and tried supporting himself with his head. He was breathing heavily.

He heard shuffling, and things scratching along the walls. Thankfully he could manage the simple feat of raising his head up from the ground, even if slightly. The demons were back.

Dante forced a smirk. "Well well, I was starting to miss you guys." He stood up shakily and drew out Kalina Ann, pointing it ahead of him at the surrounding demons. "Let's get this party started, then!"

* * *

The plunge was a lot less scary than it looked (distance and carefully timed jumps aside) but it wasn't any less dangerous for it.

Lady landed on the outcropping, one of many from the descending spire of the tower. There was enough standing room on each of the stone heads jutting out of the wall that she couldn't miss her mark. At least, she would try so that she didn't miss. The alternative was painful in an obvious way.

The circular pad from the landing above lit up with a red glow, and she stood to look back at it. The things activated as soon as she left to the next point, confident that she wouldn't go back and see what they were for. With what she was setting out to do, it was best not to waste her time trying that, so she continued on her path down to the bottom landing.

Still, she had to hazard a guess. The quickest answer was that those landings were lit with magic to form the way _up_, as a climb by hand would be near-impossible. Wonder why the reason for that was?

A quicker question would be 'Why not?' Nothing in the tower happened just because. If not her, then someone would be making use of this spire. Vergil would have seen to it.

Following the singular path left to her, she continued descending.

She was halfway down when she stopped to relax. She crawled to the wall to lean against it and rest her legs. She needed this time to think, yet as she sat back and shut her eyes, nothing came to mind. It was blank. It was strange. Her thoughts were all over the place earlier, but that was before the numerous winding paths and puzzles. Maybe that had pushed her questions off to the side.

Her hand unconsciously traveled down to the opening of her blouse where her wound was supposed to be. Healed entirely; all she had to show for the ordeal were the bloodstains and a few popped buttons.

To be saved by the very person that killed her… what could make him change his mind? Was he offering her a mercy, or simply saving her for another, worse fate? There was every chance that he was hiding his intent from her with softer words and wanted her to bear witness to possible destruction of the human world, yet for some reason… she couldn't get herself to believe that. There was something that simply did not let her see him that way. She was siding against the temperament she had long ago.

Her previous self would have insulted her now, shouted at her that he had already succeeded and won her over to his side by something as _simple_ as giving her life. That devil, Vergil, he was beyond any form of salvation. He killed an innocent man and disrupted her life when it was already bleak enough with her mother's illness. He had just thrown her into more chaos.

How could she keep thinking _that_, though? Things weren't as black and white as she'd first believed. Walking in thinking that _all_ demons were evil had cost her. Dante, at the very least, wasn't trying to kill her or lead demonic armies. She could trust him.

"But he's still a jerk," she added aloud. Dante was certainly _not _excused for making her mad more often than not in all the time they spent, but by now…

Oh, he was regretting everything, wasn't he? Thinking her dead, mulling over that moment, feeling responsible? The image of him, bloodied and near-death, came to her mind at that moment and she felt her own pang of regret. Again, it was her turn to feel like she was to blame for what happened to him. Of course, Vergil had spared Dante and left him alive… but how long ago was it since then? It was enough for him to beat himself up, certainly.

Lady sighed and slowly let her posture slacken, allowing her to look over to the side of the outcropping and get a view of the bottom. Wherever he was, she hoped it wasn't too late to find him. She needed answers to her questions, and he needed closure.

* * *

The bells meant something. That had to be the answer as to why the lesser demons made their appearance after the noises, and why they were suddenly stronger than usual. Again, it meant that Vergil succeeded. Dante was _really_ running out of time.

Fortunately, despite the demons' boost in strength from the demonic world opening, he dispatched them with ease and retrieved the items that were missing. So much easier than he thought!

The sun and moon etchings were given their rightful items and the stone bars covering the exit moved aside. Through the door were the remains of Cerberus's chamber. He almost groaned. Just when he'd thought he'd escaped, memories came back. Although it was less of a memory and more Lady's voice shrieking at him to "Shut up and let me go!" give or take a swearword under her breath. Trying to push away the bits and pieces of the scene about to play in his head, he clawed his way up the rubble and broken down walls leading up. Advancing, he had to think of advancing.

His way forward led him to a broken bridge closing the gap to another area. The bridge with the statue that once held the rewards he'd attained from the trials, and a specific one was—

Oh, not again.

He ran past the bridge to the other end. He was not going to slow down, not for this. Not even when he really just wanted to stop. There would be time for that later, after it was all over.

* * *

The worn-down door came open with a long creak, giving in to Lady's push and shove. It swung into the library, giving the huntress a glimpse into the circular room and its many shelves filled by rows upon rows of books.

Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she walked along the wide aisle. It sounded louder to her than ever, but her attentions were focused on hearing as well as her sight. Her eyes were scanning the shelves in an effort to find the answers she sought, and ears were listening, not passing the odd chance that her answer was a living breathing thing rather than a stacked bunch of pages or some easily discernible spine.

She stopped circling, pausing entirely for thought. If her answer was in a book, would she have to pull the ones on the shelves out one by one? And if not a book… then what?

Uncertainty wormed its way into her thoughts and she shivered.

On the other end of the library, a door creaked open, the sound coming out much smoother than before. The clopping of boots came from the behind the shelves, across from her. The advance was slow, step by weary step, and she followed the noise with her eyes, trailing the figure's movements as best she could.

It stopped.

Lady bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. _If that just happens to be who I think it is…_ she didn't finish that sentence. She had to be on the safe side. Her fingers closed around her holstered pistol and she slowly pulled it out, making her own advance around the aisle to meet whoever it was.

Step, step, step towards the other person. Shuffling noises answered back. The figure was retreating. Either that or they were genuinely moving away from her, trying to circle around from the other side.

Not if she made it to them first! She picked up her pace, and the figure stopped moving then. She made it to where the person was—

And found no one. Not a person, but something else. The huntress cocked her head curiously. "Kalina Ann," she murmured, approaching her abandoned weapon. She knelt down, reached for it, and

_Damn!_ She realized she was open. She whirled around, arm outstretched, gun ready and poised for a shot, but she hesitated at the figure in her sights. Paused, and everything followed with her to give her time.

The huntress looked at the 'stranger' up and down, assessing him. His hands were raised in mock surrender, first and foremost, and there were no wounds from the battle that had taken place left on any of his limbs. She'd really forgotten how long ago that was. Her sense of time was distorted, she realized. However long it was, the last she'd seen of _this_ man, he was dying, apologizing to her in his last moments.

She holstered her pistol, and never taking her eyes off of him, she blindly grasped for her weapon and pulled its weight upwards as she stood. He didn't know what she was thinking. He couldn't possibly know, but she silently acknowledged that Vergil had in fact kept his word. That was one suspicion down.

* * *

The ivory-haired demon hunter took a long, calm (if not confused) look at the girl—no, _Lady_—before him. Her short hair was slightly disheveled, her eyes carried the look of one that had lived through more than she ought to have, and even though they betrayed her innocent looking frame, they were fitting for someone like her. Her blouse still carried the blood stain from her (supposed) death, but there was no wound under it.

She was pointing a gun at him in just the same way he'd seen and remembered, but he had his doubts. This new apparition of Lady was here and observing him, true, but even if this one time had her appear much closer than he'd imagined the other times, there was still a chance she could just fade away with so much as a simple breeze blowing past.

Now she put her gun back into its holster and stood, pulling her trusted weapon with her and holding it close. He lowered his hands. Apparitions… _illusions…_ they didn't hold physical objects. They couldn't. Figments of his imagination weren't so powerful, so there went that option.

There was something in her eyes that he saw and couldn't name. She was thinking of something far and away, but if he was making this up, he would know what it was.

…_It could be a mimicry demon. _

That would explain the reality, the secrecy.

_It_ could have hung on to the walls, hid in the darkness as he and his brother carried on in their battle, _it_ could have watched as Lady had stepped in, revealed herself and left him open, for lack of better words. _It_ could have watched every second of her death and the chord it struck inside of him. This _thing_ could very well be preying on his vulnerabilities by taking on her _form_ at this moment and waiting until he fell victim to its trickery and turned his back, only to strike.

It could have, it could have… and somehow he just didn't believe it would. He stepped closer.

There was a wary look in her eyes, and she eyed her weapon, then him. Then she quickly shook her head, laid the launcher onto the shelf and left it to support itself. She came closer to him in turn.

They were close, very close, within arm's distance. He was thinking of every possible way a demon would have shown its true face and attacked him, but he had enough with second guessing. He wanted to know for certain.

In one quick movement he wrapped his arms around the woman, the demon, whatever it was, and embraced her. The voice in his mind yelled and howled in protest and he kindly told it to mind its own fucking business. His ears picked up the outside sound of the young woman's surprised gasp. His action took her unawares, but it was all he needed to know just who it was.

It was her. It was Lady, alive and well.

* * *

"Really is you," was what she heard him say.

Her response would have been 'What could make you think it wasn't me?' if only she weren't aware of the nagging feeling that _should_ have gripped Dante at the sight of her. For him to _ignore _that sense just to hold her? Her body only shook with her half-sobs and laughter.

"Idiot, I could've killed you," she muttered, her voice muffled slightly by just how close they were (her face was half buried in his chest).

Definitely—yeah, he was alive. They both were.

… but he was holding her a little too tight! Her fist pounded on his shoulder and he pulled away. "Sorry about that."

Her nose wrinkled (he still smelled like blood. Ew) but she shrugged her shoulders while he turned away casually and rubbed the back of his head. (She hadn't seen him cry earlier, and she was betting that he was blushing here, now).

"Mm. It's okay, I guess," she said. Not like she was going to admit that she missed him too; he already knew that. Stating the obvious wasn't going to be one of her habits. She was letting her eyes wander on everything but him, and she was looking at the floor when she'd asked, "You're not wondering how I'm here?"

"To tell ya the truth, I am, but," he shrugged, "I figure I'll get the answer myself later."

Lady took a little time to herself to look at Dante at that response, and a part of her finally, _finally,_ realized how different he was from Vergil. All that time she had spent hating him because he was a demon, more so because he looked identical to her father's murderer… Had she stopped before and taken a moment of that time, she could have separated the two and put aside her ill-placed anger towards him.

Again, things were not as she thought at first. Dante had a heart. He was a demon, but he could care. Maybe his faith was a little blind at times, but he did in fact care.

Vergil was harder to grasp, and he was conscious of that fact and used it to keep his distance. He made an outward display of coldness, masking any intensity deep within his eyes, hiding it under the distinct lack of feeling and heartlessness in his actions. Dante was the type to toss it out, the type that went at things full-force in the hopes that his rigor and brash attitude would burn away any of his regrets and despair.

Different attitudes brought about by the same thing...

She didn't yet understand Vergil's true nature, but he still had to be stopped.

Lady stepped closer to Dante with the intention of requesting that one last task, but to her surprise, Dante raised his hand and only said "I know. I know what I need to do." It gave her the brief impression that he read her mind. He smiled reassuringly, and a faint smile of relief played on her lips in response. What was all that she thought earlier? About him being a jerk? He was certainly proving her wrong, knowing when to be serious and all, having been so willing to take on her task for both their sakes after her absence. …It was nice to know that someone cared.

He brushed her on his way towards the exit. Maybe on purpose, maybe by accident, but she didn't mind. Reconciliation was wonderful.

There was still one more thing she felt he had to know for some reason. She turned around. "Wait!"

Dante stopped mid-step and looked over his shoulder to her. "Hm?"

"…Mary."

The name caught his attention. Noting that, Lady repeated, "My real name… it's Mary."

The demon hunter took a while to process the change, wondering what made her so willing to give him the name she'd denied days before. Maybe this was payment for giving back her weapon? Curious… He actually turned around and made his way back.

She tensed just slightly as he raised his hand and ran his fingers through her hair so casually, lightly. "I dunno..." he said, the tone of his voice let her know he was still mulling over that, "I think 'Lady' suits you better." He leaned in and planted a kiss on her forehead. The sound she made had a quiver to it, questioning and maybe a little shocked, but the moment was quick. Dante was back to his own cocky self a moment later, and leaving to face fate.

She watched him go, absently raising her hand to her forehead. He was _definitely _proving her wrong. She caught sight of where she'd placed Kalina Ann against the bookshelf and a thought flit across her mind; _I should have given that back to him instead, _but then, perhaps the human weapon would only slow him down? She looked to her trusted missile launcher, almost asking _it _the question. Would it have slowed him? Was he better off trusting in his own strength?

…was _she_ better off, trusting in _him?_

What a question. There couldn't have been anything she was more sure of. He _would_ stop the world from being overrun by demons. What doubt was there that he was capable of that? To misplace her faith at this stage would be almost suicide.


	10. Doppelganger

_I have finally updated this story! Credit goes to SpoonyAzul for beta-ing the chapter and clarifying the wording in some scenes._

* * *

The search was on. Lady was left to her own devices, free to search the library as she pleased. She heard nothing but the sound of her own footsteps while mismatched eyes scanned the room. Her pace slowed almost to a grinding halt as she looked around the bookshelves. Her answer had to be in one of these books, but most came across as too old to make use of, even just by the musty _smell _of the ancient tomes.

She reached out her arm to one of the shelves and drawn one tome out of the hundred books still left untouched. With a deep breath, Lady blew the dust off the cover and found that she could read the title much less the book. Small markings embroidered the front, but the female demon hunter would find herself hard-pressed to call those tiny chicken scratches 'letters'_. _She could read nothing but nonsense as she flipped through the pages.

_This isn't it. _

Lady shook her head as she dropped the book by her feet and continued searching. With every book she read, even the spine had much of the same odd lettering. She couldn't let herself be frustrated by the fact that there would be knowledge inside these books and not be able to read it. Still, it was tempting to see if _maybe _there was something she could read, knowledge she could understand.

Carrying on with her search, she scanned the bookshelves again when a book caught her eye. Its blue color stood out from the rest of the ancient tomes and it was slightly thicker than the first one she picked out of the library. In place of a title was some sort of circular pattern.

_Looks fancy enough. _

Skimming the book at random pages, she found only a collection of myths, tales of a 'black-horned demon' and its many feats as told by one storyteller after another. Some stories spanned decades and a few spanned _centuries._ Each tale described the demon saving humanity in some way, the text that followed more embellished than the last. The scribes held this demon in such high esteem, as if he was an idol to worship.

"As if he was a god," Lady murmured. Every bit of it sounded like a fairy tale for children, but she knew the subject too well by now to think just that. The demon's name was never mentioned in the book, but the tales were of Sparda. She was as sure as she was breathing. She'd heard the tales before...

That's when she heard her father's voice. _His _voice, inflection and all, began narrating the words before her. She tried to shake away the thoughts, but could not get them out of her head.

Her mind flashed back to her youth, to those nights where her father's idea of a bedtime story was yet another legend of the dark knight that fought for the sake of the human race. He spoke of the demon's sacrifices as if he'd seen the events first-hand, spoke of the power that Sparda had given up to live like one of them. One of _them! _Weak, lowly humans. _Could you believe it,_ her father would ask, _a demon desiring to be human? _

Mary would nod her head, even though she doubted it even then. Bedtime stories always took place 'once upon a time' and princesses were always involved, damsels in distress with a dragon keeping them prisoner in tall towers for god-knows-what. Then the valiant knight, riding on horseback and wielding a mighty sword, would come to slay the beast and save the princess in the tower. She knew that _those things _didn't exist, so why would this one be different? Why this one knight?

Still, Arkham seemed so interested. He really did believe, right? It would have broken his heart if she said no, so she agreed instead. Mary wanted him to know that she was a good girl.

And just as she imagined that, she knew this: he died never knowing her honest opinion about the legends.

That thought, along with all the others, was just simply _too much _for her to bear.

The huntress slammed the book shut, hurled it away from her with as much force as she could, and buried her face in her hands, silently sobbing while trying to hide her tears.

Sometimes, it was the little things that set her off.

* * *

_Deathvoid._

Something within Dante's subconscious dubbed the gate before him with that name. The fact that it was covered in a swirling portal of darkness might have helped him come to that decision. Coming from said portal, thin black tendrils reached out at the hunter, trying to lick at him. The gate spanned the entire width of the stairs and stretched vertically higher than he could jump. There was no way around it at all.

The hunter scoffed; the only way past the obstacle would be through it, he guessed. Something like this was bound to be standing in his path anyway, and it was better to get it over with, so he took a brave step forward. Once within the void, the ground just dropped from underneath him and sent him plummeting straight down into the darkness below.

No walls, no floor, there was nothing to hold onto to slow his fall. He had no telling which way was up or down. He'd gotten enough of that feeling while fighting the demons that posed as angels, but no more. He sought out a balance as best as he could and righted himself just as he landed on something hard. He landed on his feet in a crouch and looked to either side. Nothing. Nothing to see, anyway. Good to know he'd given the place an apt name before even stepping in; it was dark and quiet as death down here.

Dante summoned the gauntlets and greaves, looking around at the space the weapons could light. He tapped his feet on the floor. It felt like solid ground, but it didn't hurt to be cautious. With time and one careful step after another; he found that the room was circular. No exit in sight. Just various semi-circular _things_ in the walls—they looked like eyes.

Dante approached one and reached out to touch it when he heard something shift behind him, alerting his senses. He whirled around to face the dark just as something glowed in the very far distance but it faded to nothing. Had it been watching?

He tensed, but not of his own will; a pressure was bearing on him from all sides, stifling him. The light in his weapons dimmed to nothing.

One of the 'eyes' opened from the left end of the room, cast a shadow to his right. Off— on— the shadow was to the left. Off— On— the lights flickered on, off, from every direction, one nearly managing to blind Dante. He raised his arms up to shield himself then the room went pitch black. He put his arms down, listening for anything. The 'show' must have been the work of a demon controlling the void.

Dante shrugged, relaxed his posture now that he could. "This is supposed to be scary?" he taunted, calling out to nothing. "I get a bigger fright from my agent when he doesn't get his cut. You should meet him sometime!"

A loud cry of pain answered him. The light came on behind him and cast his shadow, but at the end, just outside the reach… Lady was curled up, sobbing and shivering. What looked like blood was seeping from her figure and into the floor. The sight was unnerving, for all of a second.

Dante pointed Ebony at the demon. "Nice try. Too late, though. I already know she's safe."

'Lady' looked up at him, scowling. Off; Darkness enveloped everything again. On; The shadow was cast behind him. Looking over his shoulder—Vergil did the same. They were back-to-back, both poised for a good shot if either was quick to take advantage. Dante faced forward again, smirking. "That's just too easy."

He turned quickly intending to behead the demon with a swipe and the lights went out again so that he struck only empty space.

Dante frowned. How unimpressive that he face a mimicry demon now, especially one that had shown him all its tricks so far. He walked around the room, slowly, channeling his energy into the gauntlets and getting them to light again until they could sustain it on their own. With the weapons come to life just barely, Dante stopped circling the room, making his way to one of the lights and knocking on the lids. "You can't keep hiding forever!" _Not like__ you can do anything in this form, anyway, _he finished the thought in his head.

From what it showed him so far, it only cast illusions using a light source— if there was light, or even an object. The demon was useless in total darkness as well; while he couldn't harm it, without a physical form it would barely touch him either, only try to keep him still. Solidifying it was the only chance either of them had at an actual fight, it looked like. Killing it would be a matter of when, not if.

He continued tapping, then drew back and punched the shell. The lids flew open.

The demon hissed from the far side of the room. Dante turned to face it and found a formless mass. "So, there you are."

The darkness came closer and closer, shrinking in the face of the light and morphing into a vaguely more human shape as it slunk towards Dante's shadow. The hunter ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek and watched. The thing, whatever it was supposed to be, seemed to be looking at him. Its eyes glowed an ominous red before a voice echoed off of the walls.

_**Why do you fight?**_

Dante's eyes darted around briefly at the sound before registering that it was the demon's voice; deep, raspy, angry in tone and questioning. The devil hunter just shrugged his shoulders in response. "What? all you're gonna do is ask questions?"

The voice said once more, with no change, _**Why do you fight?**_

"Why the hell's it any of your business?" Ivory was leveled at the demon's head. It wasn't that difficult; Dante could just shoot it now that this thing was physically standing in front of him, but…

_**What do you hope to accomplish?**_

"Like I said, it's none of your business." His hand started shaking. Why? He already knew the answer to the questions. Why was he still shaking as if the demon had struck a nerve?

_**You're still afraid, human.**_

He was about to childishly respond 'I am NOT!' but his hand proved quicker as he pulled the trigger, Ivory ringing out in quick shots, its sound echoing around him. The light came off at the same time, the bullets missing their mark as it became dark yet again.

Damn, better timing! He needed better timing, but more importantly, he needed to **calm down. **The demon was trying to make him lose his cool. He just… had to ignore it and fire when it next appeared.

On—

The light was stronger and the shadow darker. The demon stood within Dante's actual shadow, as if they were connected, and held a more distinct shape than before. It was much taller, inhuman, it was a mirror of Dante's own demonic form. The mimic bared his fangs in blatant mockery of a smile, drew out a copy of Rebellion from its place on his back and motioned for Dante to 'bring it'.

_**Come on then, fight me!**_

"Now that's more like it!" Dante wasn't going to be taken down by some psychoanalysis bullshit from some mimicry demon. He was eager for a _real _fight…

Then he made a mistake.

He was the one to charge head-on into the darkness, _straight_ into enemy territory, not the mimic into the light.

At first it meant nothing. Despite the advantage the hunter thought the devil had in his own element, they matched each other in strength and speed. They parried each other's blows, and each time they crossed swords they would break the clinch in order to take advantage and attack, only to meet the other's blade once more. They were caught in a livelock, and it couldn't last. Dante was going to make sure of it.

However, the number of mistakes grew.

As the time went on, they weren't evenly matched anymore. The demon was faster by so much as _milliseconds _and it was infuriating to no end for the devil hunter to attack and miss by a hair, or to be too slow to dodge the very tip of the blade that sliced into his torso.

This- this couldn't be happening. **Shouldn't** be happening. Dante couldn't lose to this **thing. **He couldn't! He tried to push himself to move faster, _react _quicker, to _swing _and _slash_ but he ached, wounded all over because he wasn't allowing himself time to recover. He tried to ignore that because he had _no time _for it. Even when he pushed against his limits, his answer was to hurl himself full force until it _broke _and gave up trying to hold him in because that was his solution to everything.

He gripped the hilt of Rebellion so tightly his fingers were bleeding. Each move he made was close to tearing the cries right out of his lungs, but he didn't care. He was going to **win. **He had to! He just needed _more _than what he had_ then_, more than the strength that was slipping through his fingers.

The mimic was smirking the entire time, and its expression was more apparent as the seconds passed on. With each attack that came its way, its claws morphed to bloodied fingers, its armor to tattered clothing, its scales to broken and bruised skin. He mirrored his opponent's human form save for the pitch-black of his skin and the tendrils of his own demonic aura trailing beneath his feet.

Dante lunged to attack, but the demon effortlessly knocked away another strike from Rebellion with its copy.

_**You're still afraid, human.**_

"Afraid of," Dante huffed, "afraid of what?" He staggered back and tried to recover just as much as he thought he needed, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. He greedily sucked in breath after ragged breath while he could almost feel his old wounds reopening, the tinge of copper in his mouth.

The demon in the shadows let out a laugh that echoed off of the walls and made it seem like there were more of him.

_**This could all be over for you. Just give in.**_

_Give in...? _It was all coming together now, and the devil hunter was disgusted with the idea. No. It'd never happen. He wouldn't transform into that _thing, _even if not doing so killed him (even if he was dying right then as he stood). Become a demon? Embrace it, the same way his brother did?

"Not a chance." He would take the mimic down without calling on those powers. He reached with his right hand and unholstered Ebony just as he had before. The demon lifted his arm, mirroring the motion.

Wait—

Something was wrong. He couldn't pinpoint where. He glanced down at his black gun on his…

_Wait_—

He pulled out Ebony with his right. His right! No, no, it couldn't be! It was supposed to be Ivory!

He looked back up at the mimic. Ebony was in the demon's left hand, where it was _supposed _to be. That was right, but this was wrong. All wrong, and it only got worse from then on.

Right before his eyes, the demon underwent a gradual shift. Each 'eye' in the room opened as the other began to close. The light got closer to the mimic, and the darkness that enveloped it like a second skin was beginning to lift. The aura beneath him was receding, while the darkness only grew on Dante's side.

The half-demon tried to think, to act, but a familiar pressure was bearing down on him, and he couldn't hold up any longer. The gun slipped out of his fingers. Rebellion fell away from his grasp. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

It took a while to sink in that he himself was slowly losing shape and form as his skin, his clothes, even his weapons darkened like his new surroundings.

"What… the **hell?**"

It became hard to think, even harder to breathe. Dante panicked like the scared human that he was and started crawling, clawing at the air, trying to reach the demon, trying to get up and _run._ However, his legs felt like jelly while his form began to melt into the ground beneath him.

_**Wait, I can't… **_ he shouted, shocked that even his voice echoed just as deep and raspy and enraged as the shadow before but no less scared.

The darkness was sinking in completely. The demon lunged anyway, its fingers reached for the 'human', wrapped tightly around his neck—

That's when the lights went out and neither of them felt a thing.


End file.
